


Comfort

by ficbear



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Anal Sex, Bandages, Breathplay, Dream Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The heat of the night air has covered him in sweat, and the thin bedclothes are twisted around his naked body like vines. In the dim light provided by his bedside lamp, it takes Mitsunari a few moments to focus his eyes enough to notice Yoshitsugu sitting by his bedside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

>   
> _"I forgive you." Ieyasu gasps, somehow getting the words out despite the pale fingers crushing his throat. His eyes stare up, wide and warm, at Mitsunari. The fondness in them only makes Mitsunari want to hurt him more. With both hands wrapped around Ieyasu's neck, Mitsunari fucks him brutally, determined to drive a cry of pain from those treacherous lips. Knowing this is all a dream doesn't help; Mitsunari realises there is no real vengeance in this, but nevertheless his fingers itch to crush the life out of Ieyasu. So he squeezes with all his might, gritting his teeth and growling in insatiable rage. He squeezes, digging his nails into the smooth skin of Ieyasu's throat, slamming into him mercilessly. He squeezes, with tears of fury wetting his cheeks. Still Ieyasu looks up at him with eyes full of affection and sympathy. "Mitsunari, I forgive you."_   
> 

He wakes with a shout. His heart is pounding, and the beat of it is deafening in his ears. The heat of the night air has covered him in sweat, and the thin bedclothes are twisted around his naked body like vines. In the dim light provided by his bedside lamp, it takes Mitsunari a few moments to focus his eyes enough to notice Yoshitsugu sitting by his bedside, and when he does, it prompts a flare of pointless rage.

"What are you doing, Gyoubu? What do you want?" Mitsunari snarls. He can still feel the warmth of Ieyasu's throat on his fingers.

"I heard your cries, and came to check on my good friend, of course." Yoshitsugu's expression is inscrutable, and he holds Mitsunari's gaze steadily. "Why else would I be here?"

Mitsunari looks away, snorting derisively. "Nothing you do is ever that simple. How stupid do you think I am?"

Yoshitsugu is silent for a moment. Then, moving away from the bed, he responds as calmly as if he'd just been politely dismissed. "Well, since you don't need any assistance, I'll leave you to get some rest."

"No!" Mitsunari cries out, before he realises what he's saying. His pulse is still racing, and the fire sparked by his dream is still burning through him. "Gyoubu, stay. Please."

The older man turns from the door, and there's a flicker of a smile curling at his lips as looks at Mitsunari. Yoshitsugu knows him well enough to understand what he's asking for, and Mitsunari is silently grateful for that. He can hide nothing from Yoshitsugu. Even the subtlest gesture or expression is noticed and understood, and that would be worrying, if it wasn't so beneficial for Mitsunari. After all, without Yoshitsugu's insight, he would have to bear the indignity of asking out loud for this.

The blanket covering Mitsunari is thin enough that his arousal is plainly obvious, but he still feels a shiver of embarrassment as Yoshitsugu pulls the fabric aside. He can almost feel Yoshitsugu's gaze running over him, languorously drinking in the sight of his bare flesh. Waiting for Yoshitsugu's touch is torture, and when one cold hand finally begins to snake its way up Mitsunari's thigh, the younger man arches his back and sighs with relief. The bandages that cover Yoshitsugu's fingers are soft and smooth, infinitely preferable to the hotter, rougher touch of bare hands against his skin; Mitsunari finds something comforting in the sensation of the fabric brushing along his flesh, and something thrilling in the coldness of its touch. He bites his lip as Yoshitsugu's hand finally curls around his shaft, letting his eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the feeling of being so expertly manipulated. Yoshitsugu knows every inch of his body, every sensitive spot, every preference, and all Mitsunari has to do is lean back and cede control to him.

Even with his eyes closed, Mitsunari can still vividly see Yoshitsugu's face before him. That cold, tranquil smile haunts his thoughts. There's no escape from the urges that seize him, and the only resolution Mitsunari has ever found is to surrender to them wholeheartedly. He grips the bedclothes tightly, thrusting up into Yoshitsugu's fist, knowing even as he does so that his body won't be satisfied with such a simple pleasure. "Gyoubu…" he murmurs, his voice low and rough with hunger.

Yoshitsugu's hand moves up slowly, running across Mitsunari's stomach and chest, then coming to rest on the back of his neck. That cold touch is irresistible, and Mitsunari allows himself to be pulled over onto his hands and knees as smoothly as if he's being carried on the wind. Pushing the white silk of his robes and bandages aside, Mitsunari bares the older man's cock and presses his lips to the tip of it, relishing the familiar scent of the Yoshitsugu's flesh. It's absurd, he knows, to find this as comforting as it is thrilling, but nevertheless the taste of the older man's body fills him with warmth. Mitsunari licks and sucks thirstily at Yoshitsugu's cock, oblivious to everything but the need to feel that cool skin against his tongue, to feel that hard flesh invading his throat. Yoshitsugu's hand is firm and insistent on his neck, holding him down, anchoring him.

Still it's not enough. The hunger burns slowly inside Mitsunari, aching and throbbing until he can't resist touching himself. He slips one hand down to grasp his cock, and reaches around with the other, stroking his fingertips down along the cleft of his ass. Cold fingers grip his wrist; Yoshitsugu stops him, and presses a jar of oil into his palm, silently admonishing him for his haste. A little groan of frustration hums in Mitsunari's throat, but he wets his fingers nevertheless, and the groan melts into a muffled cry of pleasure as his oil-slicked hands begin to work his flesh in earnest. He slides first two, then three fingers inside himself, working them in slow, deep thrusts that match the pace of the hand on his cock. It's maddening, humiliating; each thrust of his fingers only makes him hungrier, and he knows he won't be satisfied with this alone.

Mitsunari pulls back, sitting upright and locking eyes with Yoshitsugu. The older man looks at him coolly, as if he's studying a specimen. With a wry little smile, Mitsunari crawls forward and climbs onto the palanquin, swinging his leg across to sit astride Yoshitsugu. Those cold hands grip his waist, slowing his movements. "Mitsunari, don't hurt yourself," Yoshitsugu says, his lips close to the young man's ear. Still, Mitsunari takes it just a little too quickly, impaling himself on Yoshitsugu's cock forcefully enough to make it hurt. Groaning faintly at the sharp sting of it, he throws his head back and begins to ride the older man, clinging onto Yoshitsugu's shoulder with one hand and stroking himself feverishly with the other.

"Gyoubu…" Mitsunari moans, almost inaudibly, and the word sounds like a desperate little prayer. The feeling of heat and hardness inside him is glorious. Mitsunari clings tightly to Yoshitsugu, burying his face in the older man's shoulder to hide the gratitude in his eyes. But Yoshitsugu knows, as he always does, exactly what Mitsunari is feeling. The soft chuckle rumbling in his chest makes that clear. Holding onto him tightly, Mitsunari rolls and grinds his hips, stroking the soft fabric of Yoshitsugu's bandages with the tips of his fingers as he moves. It's so cold, as cold as the flesh beneath the fabric and as cold as the smile on the older man's lips.

Mitsunari shudders, feeling the pressure begin to build inside him. Nothing else does this to him, no-one else has ever wreaked this kind of havoc on his desires, his inhibitions; since he lost his lord, this is the closest to happiness that Mitsunari has ever come. His eyes are wet as he begins to climax, and he presses his lips shut, working his hand faster and tighter over the shaft of his cock as the pleasure sweeps through him. Mitsunari arches his back and comes, clinging to Yoshitsugu desperately, choking back a sob of relief. His muscles seem to melt into water, and he collapses limply forward onto the older man, breathing hard.

Yoshitsugu's grip on him tightens like a vice once the shudders of pleasure have subsided, and Mitsunari finds himself held still and fucked in short, hard thrusts, vicious enough to drive a yelp of pain from him. A few more thrusts, and the older man's muscles tauten, that cold grip tightens further still, and Yoshitsugu exhales sharply through gritted teeth, an almost snakelike hiss of pleasure that makes Mitsunari shiver. The warmth of Yoshitsugu's come floods into him, filling him, marking him, and the young man can't help but moan.

Exhaustion washes over Mitsunari suddenly, as Yoshitsugu's climax subsides, and he's grateful now for the tight grip the older man has on him. His arms are still wrapped tight around Yoshitsugu's shoulders, but he feels as if the slightest breeze would push him over, and it's a relief when Yoshitsugu finally pushes him back and guides him down onto the bed. He can barely keep his eyes open, and his thoughts are a blurry, jumbled mess; all he can do as Yoshitsugu cleans him up and straightens the bedclothes, is to murmur contentedly, "Gyoubu…"


End file.
